No Rest for the Wicked
by doranobaka
Summary: WARNING: shounenai BartBilly! Billy's world has just fallen apart, but he refuses to talk about it. A few wellplaced shots of whiskey get him to open up, but Bart and Billy get more than they expected.
1. A Long, Chilly Night

**A/N:** Well, this is shounen-ai, specifically Bart+Billy. The world needs more Bart/Billy fic, and I intend to help. :D Anyway, this has spoilers for the whole Ethos thing, so if you haven't had Billy in your party for a while, you may not want to read. This fic also includes underage drinking, a pirate who swears a lot, and a wellspring of Billy-angst. (I always thought his reaction to the whole Ethos incident was a little unrealistic.)   
  
Note, constructive criticisms are _quite_ welcome. Also, I'll try to keep this updated on a semi-regular basis, but no gaurantees. I'm writing this sheerly for my own amusement (and that of a fellow Bart/Billy shipper), so if it's not fun anymore, I won't write it.   
  
**No Rest for the Wicked  
Part One**   
  
'Really,' Billy mused to himself, sitting on the Yggdrasil's deck, staring at the stars, 'it's not so bad.' The sky was perfectly clear and the stars bright, though the night was beginning to get chilly. Billy pulled his knees even closer to his chest to conserve his body heat.   
  
'It could be worse,' he continued desperately. 'Prim could have just forgotten about me completely. She could have told me she hates me. She could have said she loved _him_...' A shudder ran through him. Wasn't that exactly what had happened? Hadn't she shunned him in favor of their so-called father? Wasn't it Jesse she had called for after all those years of silence? Had she not refused to say his name?   
  
'You're an evil sinner!' a tiny voice in his head hissed. It sounded suspiciously like Bishop Stone, but Billy didn't care. 'All those people you killed unprovoked, doing Solaris's dirty work for them... Do you really think you _deserve_ her love? Do you really think she would _want_ to say your name? The name of a _sinner_?'   
  
Billy laid his forehead against his knees and suppressed another shudder. "No," he said aloud, "I put them out of their misery. I saved them from their torment." But the voice refused to cease its silibant mantra of, 'Sinner, sinner, sinner.'   
  
Yes, Primera had delivered a mighty blow, the ultimate insult. After all the years he had spent caring for her, all the hardships he had endured to feed her and clothe her, even after the time he almost sold his body to make ends meet, she brushed him aside as soon as she saw their "father." But he could not hate her for it. She was his sole reason for living, now that he knew the Ethos was nothing but a sham.   
  
Instead, he shivered and hated himself, because that voice was right. He _was_ a sinner, and he deserved Primera's scorn.   
  
"You look cold," a new voice said, and a red vest was draped across his shoulders. Startled out of his reverie, Billy glanced up to see Bart sitting beside him, arms crossed over his chest. "Nice night, huh? I love the desert, but the sea's really growin' on me."   
  
The etone sat up straight and scraped together the scraps of his haughty facade. "I suppose," he said boredly. "I've always lived near the sea. It can be dangerous, but it's nothing special."   
  
Bart shrugged. "Live in the desert a while. You'll think differently."   
  
"My home is just fine, thanks." Billy's remark was a little more curt than he had intended, but he shrugged it off. An uncomfortable, at least in Billy's mind, silence fell, and they both sat there, gazing at the stars and the sea.   
  
After a while, Bart said, "I meant it, y'know."   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"If you need anything, you can come to me," he said.   
  
"I don't need anything. Besides," he added softly, mumbling into his knees, "you can't help me, anyway." A small part of him hoped Bart would not hear him and would leave. Another part of him, the part that sounded like Bishop Stone, kept repeating, 'Sinner, sinner, there's no rest for the wicked.'   
  
"Don't give me any of that 'holier-than-thou' crap," snapped the pirate. "It's not like I'd think any less of you if you _did_ need something and you asked for help. So if it's your pride that you're worried about, just forget about it." He sighed when Billy seemed unmoved. "Jeez, at least just tell me what's wrong."   
  
'Do you really want to know what's wrong?' Billy thought, hiding a sneer. 'How about my whole life? How about everything I've worked for, all of my beliefs? How about the fact that my sister I've tried to take care of doesn't even notice me and is fawning over that man who dares call himself our father?' A moment later, he lied, "Nothing's wrong. I just want to be alone."   
  
"Bullshit."   
  
Billy's head snapped up and he glared icily at Bart. "Are you calling me a liar?"   
  
"Yeah, I am. I think something's wrong, and I'm going to keep bothering you about it until you own up." Bart smirked triumphantly.   
  
"You don't know anything about me," Billy snarled. "There's-- nothing-- wrong!"   
  
"I don't buy that for a minute," Bart said, smirk giving away to an angry scowl. "Would it make you feel better if I offered you 3000G for you to spill it, huh?"   
  
Billy froze, staring at Bart wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He forgot to breath. The only reason his clothing and hair moved was the chill ocean breeze which blew constantly over them. Even the miniature Bishop Stone in his head was stilled. Slowly, hurt crept into his aqua eyes, followed by a fair amount of smoldering anger. His jaw began to work, trying to form words which never emerged from his throat.   
  
"_You_--" he managed eventually, "you lowlife. You _bastard_!" He sprang to his feet quicker than Bart would have given him credit for and began backing toward the hatch. Bart's red vest slipped from his shoulders and tangled around his feet, causing him to lose his balance. With a yelp and a curse, he landed squarely on his behind.   
  
Before he realized what he was doing, Bart found himself kneeling at the etone's side. "Hey, are you okay? Listen, I'm... I'm sorry about that, that was a really stupid thing for me to say." Billy shot him a stony glare which conveyed his agreement. Bart fell uncharacteristically silent for a moment, and neither of them moved. "Are you okay?" he asked again.   
  
"Does it _look_ like I'm okay?" Billy cried, still glaring. "I've just found out that I was serving _Solaris_, that all of my beliefs are wrong and were crafted specifically to keep the ignorant masses in check, that the man I most admired is a murderer, that _I'm_ a murderer, and..." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "And my sister won't even say my name." A look of shock began to settle on his face. "Oh, God, I said that out loud."   
  
Bart gazed at him, stunned. "Damn. I didn't realize how much this has all been eatin' at you." He stood, picked up his vest, and offered Billy a hand. "C'mon, you don't need to be out here alone. I think you could do with a drink."   
  
Shakily, Billy nodded and regained his footing with Bart's help. "Yeah," he said, "a drink sounds like a really good idea right now."   
  
* * *   
  
Two tumblers and a half-full bottle of vintage single-malt whiskey sat between them on the long table in the Gun Room. As it turned out, both pirate and etone were decent at holding their liquor, and their drunkenness hadn't progressed much past slurred speech. After the first two rounds, Maison had given up on convincing the pair that drinking at this hour would be a bad idea, and he had left them alone to their own devices.   
  
"'I tried to drown my sorrows,'" Billy mused into his empty tumbler, "'but the bastards learned to swim.' I don' want to sound ungrateful, but I don'-- don' think this is helping." Bart reached out and filled his glass.   
  
"You jus' haven't had enough," he said as he poured two fingers of whiskey into his own glass. "D'you wanna talk about it? I won't pay you for it, I promise." For some drunken reason, Billy found this incredibly funny, and he dissolved into a fit of giggles.   
  
"Oh, Lord help me," Billy said as he finally managed to regain control over his giggling. "I guess it won't matter if I tell you, especially if we finish this, because I don' think we'll be able to remember any of it. Then I can't feel guilty for talking, and you can't hold what I say against me."   
  
Bart tossed back his liquor then arched an eyebrow at his drinking partner. "You don' need to encourage me to drink, this is smooth stuff. But even if-- if we weren't gettin' drunk, what you say won't ever leave this room."   
  
"So you'll hold it against me when we're in here," Billy deadpanned, swallowing the whiskey in his glass and pouring himself some more. Bart grinned and shook his head.   
  
"Nah, you know what I mean. C'mon, you can trust me."   
  
Billy grinned too. "Yeah, I know. But I get to ask a question before I'll spill my guts to you, okay?"   
  
"Go for it, kid," Bart said as he solemnly served himself another shot.   
  
"Why do you care?" Billy inquired, pushing his tumbler to the side and leaning back in his chair. "I-- I mean, why's it matter that I'm not on the deck alone? Why's that 3000G seem to mean so much to you?"   
  
"... I don't know," answered Bart soberly, also setting aside his glass. "I guess... I mean, with the 3000G, I just saw you and thought you looked like a nice kid who shouldn't have to do something like that. I remember all the crap I had to go through when I was younger than you, and I wouldn't wish that on _anyone_." He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. "And I care because I like you. You seem like a 'nice guy' under all that 'arrogant prick' crap. You shouldn't have to be alone when you're sufferin'."   
  
"I... I really don' feel like drinking anymore," Billy said quietly, putting the cap back on the bottle of whiskey.   
  
"Me either," Bart agreed. They both stood shakily, the etone even gripping the edge of the table to keep from losing his balance.   
  
"I think I'm going to bed," continued Billy. "Thank you... for the drink, and all."   
  
"Oh no you don't!" said Bart, grinning again. "First off, you still haven't spilled your guts. Second, I wouldn't leave you alone when you were depressed and sober. D'you really think I'm gonna leave you alone when you're depressed and _drunk_?" He cocked his head toward the stairs. "C'mon, we're going back to my room. We can talk there."   
  
Billy blanched. "But-- but there are stairs between here and there."   
  
"So?"   
  
A blush crept across Billy's pale face. "Um... Well... I'm having a little trouble with the room spinning."   
  
The pirate shrugged and sauntered around to Billy's side of the table. "No problem," he said, placing one hand on Billy's back, then bending down to scoop him up with his other arm under his knees. Billy blinked owlishly at him.   
  
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, a little indignant.   
  
"I'm carryin' you, what does it _look_ like?"   
  
Billy glared. "I can see _that_. I want to know why."   
  
Bart continued to grin at him. "Well, you can't walk, and we're going to my room, so I figured I'd give ya a lift."   
  
"You're incorrig-- incorrig--"   
  
"'Incorrigible,'" Bart supplied cheerfully. "Aw, don't look so surprised. Maison and Sig've been tellin' me that for _years_ and years."   
  
Mercifully, the short walk to Bart's quarters was uneventful. Of course, that didn't keep Billy from screwing his eyes shut and clutching at Bart's vest until they were both safely sitting on Bart's bed.   
  
"It wasn't _that_ bad," said Bart, managing to pry Billy's hands off his vest. Rather than letting the etone have his hands back, however, Bart clasped them in his own hands and began chafing them gently. "Damn, do your hands always get this cold when you're drunk?"   
  
"Don't get drunk often enough to know," Billy replied sourly. "And you could've broken both our necks."   
  
"I didn', though, did I?" replied the pirate cheekily. "Now c'mon, what's eatin' at you? It's not good to keep it all in like that. 'Sides, I might be able to help."   
  
"Hah. Unless you could make someone love me..." Billy trailed off. "God, this sounds so stupid."   
  
Bart shook his head. "No way. Go on."   
  
Billy sighed. "I-- I think I could stand it if... If it had just been the Ethos, if it had just been Bishop Stone. But it was _him_, too, that man who says he's our father." He took a deep breath, fighting against the anger and the self-loathing that rose up in him. "And Prim... Prim didn't even notice me."   
  
An uncomfortable silence fell between them, Bart's one eye locked with Billy's. Finally, as though coming to some momentous decision, Bart laid Billy's hands in his lap, then leaned forward until his lips were barely a hairsbreadth apart. "I noticed you." His eye never left Billy's even as he closed the gap between them and placed a clumsy kiss on the etone's mouth.   
  
When he pulled away, Billy could only stare at him. "I-- I must be drunker than I thought," he said, his voice trembling.   
  
"How d'you figure?" Bart asked, keeping his gaze steady.   
  
"I'm starting to hallucinate," Billy said matter-of-factly. "I could've sworn you just kissed me."   
  
The Bishop Stone voice, which had been silenced by the whiskey, chose that moment to make its presence known again. In the back of Billy's mind, it hissed, 'And you *enjoyed* it, you sinner! How could you be worthy of Primera's love if you take part in something like that?'   
  
"That's funny," replied Bart, "I could'a sworn I kissed you too. Must be a shared hallucination." An impudent grin found its way to his face. "Wanna try again, see if we both still think I kissed you?"   
  
Billy knew that voice of his "conscience" would protest, but he managed to nod his assent before the voice got a chance. This kiss was a bit less awkward but no less heated. Billy could taste the liquor in Bart's mouth, just as he was sure the taste lingered in his. Of their own accord, Billy's hands came to rest on the pirate's arms, then ran slowly up them until they cradled his face. He pulled back, breathless.   
  
"Wait," he gasped.   
  
"What's wrong?" asked Bart innocently. "I swear, I ain't payin' ya for this."   
  
This statement caught the etone by surprise. "Huh?"   
  
Bart inched closer to him, his eye downcast. "Listen, I like you a lot. You're a nice kid-- no, a nice _guy_, and I like you." He paused. "A lot," he finished lamely. "And if you don' like me, that's okay, we'll just go to bed and it was all just us bein' drunk."   
  
Understanding dawned on Billy. "That's... That's why the 3000G upsets you."   
  
Bart chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. Kinda lame, I guess. Jus' forget about it."   
  
"No. That's nice of you." Billy tentatively reached out and brushed blond hair away from the gray eyepatch. "Can I ask you something?"   
  
"S-- sure."   
  
Billy leaned closer, trailing his fingertips lightly over the soft cloth. "How'd you get this? Do you ever... Do you ever take it off?"   
  
"I was really stupid," Bart said, gently touching Billy's hand. "It was an accident... I'd pro'lly be dead, if Sigurd hadn't been there, but it cost him his eye, too. I don' like to think about it too much, so I try to hide it."   
  
"If I told you something about me, would you let me see it?" The etone's face hovered close to Bart's now, eyes a little bright from the alcohol. His breath still smelled of it as it tickled Bart's cheek.   
  
"Yeah... okay."   
  
Billy's thumb hooked under the eyepatch and lifted it up. His lips pursed as he took in what lay under it: a mass of scar tissue that completely obscured his eye socket. "That must have hurt," he said, awed.   
  
"Not really," said Bart, chuckling. "I was too afraid and surprised. Didn't realize something was wrong until I woke up in the infirmary and I couldn't see right. Now you share."   
  
Before the pirate could process what was happening, Billy grasped his shoulders and pushed him back on the bed. Their lips brushed, then Billy trailed light kisses over the scars where Bart's eye should have been. "I think," he mumbled huskily, "that I kind of like you, too. Foolhardiness and all."   
  
"Damn," mused Bart, letting his hands roam up Billy's back and tangle in his soft silver hair, "I have _got_ to get you drunk more often."   
  
"Hmm..." Billy smiled lazily. "No. I want to remember this."   
  
"Me too. You admitted you liked me. I _have_ to remember that."   
  
Bart received no answer; with his head against Bart's chest, Billy had fallen asleep. "Figures," Bart said, rolling his eye. "You say you like me, then you fall asleep on me. Those last coupl'a shots were pro'lly a bad idea for you." He ruffled Billy's hair. "That's okay, though. I don' mind." After a few moments, he, too, was asleep.   
  
**~TBC~**


	2. And the Morning After

**A/N:** Well, this is shounen-ai, specifically Bart+Billy. The world needs more Bart/Billy fic, and I intend to help. :D Anyway, this has spoilers for the whole Ethos thing, so if you haven't had Billy in your party for a while, you may not want to read. This part may seem out of character for Billy, but I thought his reaction to the whole Ethos thing was very unrealistic. He really needed some kind of catharsis, so I gave it to him.   
  
That said, this part is mainly concerned with Billy-angst! XD; I thought about trying to stretch it out since it's considerably shorter than part one, but it seemed kind of fake and it cheapened the point I was trying to make. So here you go.   
  
Note, constructive criticisms are _quite_ welcome. Sorry it took so long to post this part, but I got distracted by Xenosaga. *_* Please forgive me.   
  
**No Rest for the Wicked  
Part Two**   
  
Billy Lee Black had a headache. It was, of course, the least of his worries, but it was the one that finally managed to rouse him out of slumber. In the back of his mind, he was sure there were much more important things to think about ('Like why you're not in your own room,' his "conscience" supplied), but he would deal with them as soon as the gears ceased stomping around inside his skull.   
  
"Damn," muttered Billy's pillow, "that stuff sure has a kick the next day, don't it?" The etone cringed at the sound.   
  
"Stop yelling," he rasped. "In fact, just stop making noise so I can go back to sleep."   
  
"Yeah. Last coupl'a shots were a _bad_ idea."   
  
'Last couple of shots?...' Suddenly, the headache, the talking pillow, and the distinct fuzzy spot in his memory made terrible sense. Billy took a deep breath and told himself, 'I will open my eyes and I will not be in Bart's room in Bart's bed with Bart. I will not have stupidly gotten drunk with him last night. I will not have poured my heart out to him. I'll open my eyes and all of that will be a dream.'   
  
The etone had to admit to himself that he was not particularly good at self-delusion of late. Especially not while hungover. He groaned, "Never again," and winced at the sound of his own voice. Unfortunately, the energy to move (brought on by the realization of what had happened) left him then, and he laid there, sprawled out in Bart's room, in Bart's bed, with Bart, feeling miserable.   
  
'You're lower than dirt, Billy Lee Black,' his conscience hissed. 'Need I list your sins?'   
  
"... no..."   
  
Bart propped himself up with his elbows behind him and favored Billy with a worried, if somewhat drowsy, look. "Eh?"   
  
Billy's conscience paid neither of them heed. 'Despairing of our Lord, questioning Him, _renouncing_ Him, drinking in excess, lust, and, worst of all, giving in to your carnal desires with another _man._'   
  
Pushing himself up with both his hands, the etone tumbled out of the bed, taking some of the blanket with him. With a half-hearted snarl, he kicked the offending linens away and scrambled for the door. 'Don't worry, our Lord forgives all tresspasses. He only asks you to repent.'   
  
"Argh!" Billy yelled, cluching at his pounding head with one hand while groping blindly for the door release button with the other. When he finally found it, he jabbed it ruthlessly. Without the door in his way, he stumbled out of Bart's room (leaving behind Bart's bed as well as Bart) and up the stairs.   
  
He had no idea where he was going until he arrived at his rather modest quarters. He staggered there in a daze which no one seemed to be able to penetrate other than the voice of his concience, which goaded him, 'Repent, sinner!' He was no more gentle opening this door than he had been opening Bart's.   
  
When he stepped inside and switched on the lights, his stomach gave a terrible lurch. Even though he had not been on the Yggdrasil long, his room was not quite bare. Scattered around were the artifacts and icons of the Ethos, including his dog-eared copy of the Holy Book.   
  
'Just repent; our Lord will accept you if you purge yourself of sin.'   
  
"No!" Billy growled, reaching for the nearest icon and dashing it to the floor. "I will not repent! I refuse to commit idolatry anymore!" The next-nearest item crashed near his feet and shattered; the next was a statue, so it mearly clanged and left a ding in the floor. The next was a ceramic replica of the ram-horned symbol of the Ethos, the pieces of which scattered half-way across the room.   
  
Item after item bore witness to Billy's anger, even things which had nothing to do with his former life. The bedsheets were ripped and discarded in a pile near the door, the matress lay upended against one wall, the drawers to his nightstand and their contents were strewn across the room.   
  
Finally, the only item which remained intact was Billy's copy of the Book. For a moment, he considered drawing one of his pistols and shooting it until it was nothing more than confetti, but he dismissed the thought. Instead, he stepped calmly through the debris, perched on the frame of his bed, and gently opened it to the dedication page.   
  
_My dear young Billy, may this put you on the path to redemption. Kindly, Bishop Stone._   
  
"You bastard," Billy managed to hiss through clenched teeth. His grip on the Book tightened until his knuckles were white and his hands shook. "You lying _bastard!_"   
  
First, he ripped the cover from the spine. Next, in handfuls, pages were torn out and rent to shreds. All the while, Billy raged at Bishop Stone, the Ethos, his father-- everything. When there was nothing but a large drift of paper scraps to attest to the Book's existance, Billy stood, shaking still, and began to sob. His headache, which he had ignored until this point, made itself known once again, and he dropped to his knees among the remnants of his religion.   
  
'Murderer. Idolator. _Failure._' His conscience taunted him, but now the voice was his own. A shudder ran through him at this realization, and his sobbing continued.   
  
"I have killed... so many people... In the name of a God who doesn't even _exist!_ All the things I... the things I did in His name..." He shook his head, but that only made the room spin. In response, he collapsed completely and closed his eyes. "Primera, I'm so sorry..."   
  
**~TBC~**


	3. Her Gentle Benedictions

**A/N:** Well, this is shounen-ai, specifically BartBilly. The world needs more Bart/Billy fic, and I intend to help. :D Anyway, this has spoilers for the whole Ethos thing, so if you haven't had Billy in your party for a while, you may not want to read.   
  
I finally realized what an interesting character Primera could be. If I abused her, I apologize, but she's such a good tool for getting certain points across. XD; Again, another short-ish chapter because I got the main things I wanted to say all said and trying to lengthen it just made it feel cheap.   
  
Anyway, constructive crits still welcom. :D   
  
**No Rest for the Wicked  
Part Three**   
  
When he woke, Billy found himself in the infirmary, alone save for one person (who was, thankfully, not the nurse). At his bedside, in a chair made higher through the use of various pillows, sat Primera. She gazed at him, her wide dark eyes unblinking, and Billy discovered that he could not look away.   
  
For a moment, all of the thoughts that had been plaguing him crowded around each other in his throat, trying desperately to be voiced. 'I'm a terrible person, Primera. I've killed so many men in what might as well have been cold blood, Primera. I want to go to bed with another man, Primera. I'm not worthy, Primera. Primera, I'm sorry.' But no matter what they did, none of the thoughts came out. All Billy did was stare into his sister's eyes.   
  
Finally, some words did make it past the lump in his throat. "I've failed you. I couldn't be the person you needed me to be, and I regret it with my entire being."   
  
Primera's eyes narrowed, and she reached out to grasp Billy's hand. Once she was certain she had her brother's attention ('As if there's ever been a time when she _doesn't,_' Billy mused), she shook her head.   
  
"Prim..." He sighed. "Prim, there are things you don't know about, things that you should hate me for. I..."   
  
The look in Primera's eyes brought him up short, his mouth still trying to form the rest of the sentence while his voice refused to work.   
  
When one does not speak, the only logical recourse is to listen instead. Billy had forgotten that.   
  
The look in Primera's eyes told him that she knew everything. She had known all along, and yet she was still here because he was her brother, whom she loved. The only way she would leave his side was by death, and, even then, he would probably need a priest to make sure she'd left for good. She loved him just as much as she loved her father, and the reason she hadn't spoken to him was because she'd been certain that Billy already knew how much she loved him.   
  
He saw a trace of disappointment there, too. She'd expected him to realize that their father _needed_ the reassurance of her voice, that her love for Billy didn't need such reassurance.   
  
Billy sat up and brought her hand to his heart. "I'm sorry, Prim. I... I should have known. I should have trusted you more. Can you forgive me?"   
  
When she smiled at him, her face just lit up, and it was like the sun had finally started shining in his life again. She let slip a soft little giggle, then reached into her pocket with her free hand. From it, she produced a piece of paper, neatly folded into quarters, which she carefully set in Billy's lap.   
  
"What is this?" he asked, chuckling despite himself. She nodded at him and motioned for him to unfold it.   
  
Just as carefully as Primera had set it down, Billy picked up the paper and unfolded it. Inside was a crude crayon drawing, more beautiful than any other drawing by virtue of the hand which had made it. It was the orphanage, complete with windmill, in front of which stood a stick figure Billy hugging a stick figure Primera. She'd even gone to the trouble of labelling them in blocky letters.   
  
Again despite himself, Billy smiled.   
  
Upon further inspection, two other stick figures hid slyly in the background, not labelled at all, but easily recognizable. The first, a red kerchief tied around its neck, made his heart lurch a little, even after his realization about Primera's love. Still, he understood what he suspected she was getting at: she loved Billy, but she still loved their father and wanted them all to live together again.   
  
The second one, though, puzzled him. From the eyepatch and the long yellow hair, it was obvious that the figure was meant to be Bart. He knew that the picture was meant to make a point, but Bart's presence simply baffled him.   
  
Still, he flashed Primera a grin as he folded the picture again. "I think I understand. Thank you."   
  
Again, she favored him with a smile that was like sunshine before hopping off her perch and scampering toward the door. When it opened, she slipped out and the dreaded resident nurse stepped back in.   
  
"Oh, you're awake!" The nurse smiled warmly, quickly hiding a syringe behind her back. "Are you feeling very ill? Could you possibly be having acute appendicitis?" She positively beamed at the thought, and Billy could feel a nervous tic developing under his left eye.   
  
"Er, no, I think I'm all right," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "It was just a hangover, that's all. I, er, think I'll be leaving now." Before the nurse could respond (and possibly menace him with that syringe), Billy dashed for the door and made a quick escape.   
  
Without thinking, Billy had made his way toward the quarters which had been designated as his. Despite his claims of being just fine, Billy Lee Black was, in fact, a very tired young man. With most of his mind put at ease by Primera, his thoughts now centered around the possibility of a shower and a bed where he needn't worry about disturbingly over-enthusiastic medical professionals.   
  
When he touched the panel which opened the door, he felt his stomach twist into knots. Only now did he remember what had happened, and he dreaded seeing the remains of his religion scattered on the floor. But it was too late; the door was already sliding open.   
  
The sight that greeted him startled him even more than the mess that he'd left would have. The room was clean save for a few scraps of paper in the corners, the bed and bedding had been replaced, and childish drawings (all obviously Primera's handiwork) of all shapes and sizes hung where the Ethos icons had once been.   
  
The most surprising sight of all, however, was the blond pirate sprawled shamelessly on Billy's new matress, snoring ever so slightly.   
  
His concience stirred a little. 'Leave before you do something you'll regret,' it said. 'Is this really how you want to act knowing that Prim looks up to you?'   
  
However, a new voice (_Primera's_ voice) chided, 'It doesn't matter if you're defying a false god or if you think Prim might think less of you for it. What matters is that you know that she'll always love you and won't ever think less of you, and you know that the god is false.'   
  
He thought of the crudely drawn pirate stick figure. Whether it was because Bart had talked to her about it or because she was just that perceptive, Primera already knew that there was _something_ between Billy and Bart, no matter how small it might be. 'I _do_ know that she wouldn't think less of me,' he thought. 'But... would I think less of myself?'   
  
When the answer came back a resounding, "Maybe," Billy heaved a sigh. Careful to make as little sound as he could, he walked to the bed and prodded Bart until the pirate rolled over in his sleep. Billy sat on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, and stretched out next to his... 'What? Friend? Boyfriend?'   
  
Grumpily, he swatted the thought away. 'I don't know. But I'll think about it tomorrow.' And for the second time in as many days, Billy Lee Black fell asleep sharing a bed with Bartholomew Fatima.   
  
**TBC**


End file.
